An Unexpected Song
by ladyflutter
Summary: A unexpected sound sends Erik's life in a new direction after the Opera Populaire burns. Will be Erik/OC
1. A Shout in the Dark

**Author's note:**

In case this story sounds at all familiar, I had posted here about 2 years ago or so, but then I got hit with a major case of writer's block and abandoned the whole story. Well, real life kept going, things changed and I've got an idea where I want this to go now. And in rereading my original story, I realized that, in the early chapters especially, there was a lot of room to expand on the story. So that's what you're about to read.

I tried to use French names for people and places as much as I could. For more information about the names, PM me and I'll send you links to the sites I used as references. I'm including this because if you look up "fiacre" in an English or French-English dictionary, you'll find a definition relating to a type of horse-drawn cab. Here's a list of what the names mean in English:

"Cœur Blessé" basically means "wounded heart".

"Nadya" is the French form of the name "Nadezhda", which means "hope" in Russian.

"Beaulieu" is from a French place name that meant "beautiful place".

"Fiacre" is the French form of the name "Fiachra" which is derived from the Gaelic word _fiach_ meaning "raven".

"Gagnon" is derived from old French _gagnon_ "guard dog". The name most likely started as a nickname for an agressive or cruel person.

"La Guérison" is basically "Healing".

I've tried to research what I can, if you notice any inaccuracies, please let me know!! You'll find the translation of any other French words at the end of the chapter.

Before I forget, I also owe a huge thank you to my beta, erik'sangel57. She says she's new at being a beta reader, but from all the feedback she gave me I'd say she's doing an awesome job!!

Disclaimer: As much as I wish, I have absolutely no claim to owning POTO. No characters, music, places, etc...are mine, except those you don't recognize 'cause they came out of my mind. So don't sue me, I'm not making any money off this and I don't really have anything you would want, unless you count my piano and cats...

* * *

Erik had never intended to stay in the _Opera Populaire_ forever.

He knew that Christine would never have been able to exist forever in his home under the opera house. Since now she was not going to be with him at all, he saw no reason to stay. After several hours of waiting in the tunnels for the _gendarmes_ and opera employees to leave his lair, the maskless Phantom returned to survey the damage. Given the fact that his home was surrounded by rock and water, there was little damage beyond the mirrors he had broken.

Stepping around the broken glass, Erik slowly looked around the cave that had been his home for so long. There was the mannequin he'd carved of Christine, his replica of the opera house above, all his drawings of her. His organ, which had taken almost a year to assemble correctly. Little odds and ends of a life lived far away from the realm of others.

He took two traveling cases and began to retrieve some items: clothing, books, Christine's ring, supplies for shaping new masks, and a single brass key went into one case. All of his herbs and medical supplies went into the other. Into a large leather portfolio Erik put all of his music, all except his copy of _Don Juan Triumphant_. That was one piece that was seared into his mind; he had no need of the actual music. Sadly he looked at his magnificent organ, which was far too large to be moved. Finally, his other precious musical instruments were quickly packed in their cases and secured inside a large trunk along with his music portfolio. The music box he chose to leave behind. He didn't need anything else, as his new home had all the other things that this one did . . .except for the memory of Christine. Stacking the two cases on top of the truck, he easily lifted it and headed towards the passage. As he disappeared through the broken mirror, he never even glanced back.

As always, a large black cloak and hat were hanging in the dark corridor, awaiting his next venture above ground. Now, Erik lifted them from their hooks for the last time. As he removed the cloak, a small carved niche was exposed. He withdrew his spare mask, fitting the smooth white leather to his face with the ease of practice. Fastening his cloak and donning his hat, he picked up his trunk and cases again and strode off into the dark. As he arrived at the gate, he took one last look behind him. Then, pushing open the iron gate along the Rue Scribe, the Phantom of the Opera left as quietly as he had arrived all those years ago.

Upon leaving the alleyway, he quickly hailed a cab and gave the singular direction: "_Cœur Blessé_." After securing his luggage to the top of the cab, the driver started the horses. The sound of the horses' hooves softened as the road changed from the city's cobblestones to the soft dirt of country roads. The world outside quickly faded away as Erik's mind drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Almost anyone who knew of 20-year old Nadya Beaulieu would swear she had to be of the luckiest women alive. Her _fiançailles_ to Fiacre Gagnon had been an announcement that delighted some, angered others, and astonished many. As one of the wealthiest men in all of France and still unmarried at the age of 28, this engagement was the greatest accomplishment Nadya's friends could dream of fer her. Fiacre's family estate was the largest in the province, even larger than the Beaulieu estate it bordered. That meant the marriage would unite the whole of Aquitaine north of the Dordogne river into one estate.

There was also cause for happiness beyond the material advantages. It seemed to everyone that theirs was a true love match. Friend and foe alike commented on how devoted Fiacre was to Nadya. Since their engagement had been announced in January, Nadya seldom was seen without Fiacre at her side. The marriage was set to take place in 3 months, May 23. Hundreds of guests had been invited, the church was reserved, and her wedding gown was the most talked of garment in all of Aquitaine.

Nadya had never felt more depressed or trapped.

Fiacre was good looking, wealthy and well-connected. Mothers throughout all of France had been throwing their daughters at him for years. Many a young lady had appeared to be his favorite for a time, only to be cast aside for another very quickly. It had been a shock to all to see this well-known _homme à femmes_ so attentive to **this** particular young woman. Some said it had to be be love that caused this change, others cited the financial reasons for the match.

Of them all, only Nadya knew the true reason.

* * *

Erik was jolted awake as the carriage stopped. Lifting the shade and looking out into the dim light, he realized they had reached Cœur Blessé. Opening the window and leaning out, he gave the driver directions to his new home: _La G__uérison_

.

When the carriage stopped again, he stepped out and accepted his trunk and cases from the driver. Handing the driver his fare, Erik watched as the carriage disappeared into the deepening twilight. He turned and walked briskly down the lane, up to the house. Lamps could be seen shining through the windows; Madame Giry had evidently followed his instructions and had engaged a housekeeper for him.

As he began to walk the last few yards to the house, he was stopped suddenly by a scream.

A woman's scream.

* * *

Translations:

_gendarmes - _police officers  
_fiançailles_ – engagement  
_homme à femmes_ – ladies' man

**Well, please let me know what you think! Hit the Review button below!**


	2. Rescuing Angel

Author's note: Wow! I didn't think I'd have as many hits to this story or reviews for just the 1 chapter! Thanks to all who reviewed, your thoughts are appreciated! I'm really glad that so many people liked the use of the French language; I was afraid it would be irritating to many. However, I completely agree with a couple reviewers (Lady STRIPES, GerrysLittleMissSunshine08, & Human Riot) that the original story for the Phantom was set in France, written in French by a French author...so I really can't see him starting out as anywhere other than in France.

FYI: while the town of "Cœur Blessé" is a made up town, there really is a province in France called Aquitaine, which does have the Dordogne river running through the upper part of the province. It's a little hard to tell for sure, but it looks like Erik could have made the trip from Paris to Cœur Blessé in 15 hours or so...at least that's my guess for the purposes of this story. So here's the next chapter, along with the list of "what-do-the-names-mean".

"Adèle" is the French form of the name "Adela" which was Originally a short form of names beginning with the Germanic element adal meaning "noble". PM if you want the website I quoted that from.

"La Guérison" is basically "Healing". If you don't remember from chapter 1, it's the name of Erik's house in Cœur Blessé.

Again, I've got to add a line of thanks to erik'sangel57 for doing that honors as beta...just having another points of view before posting this really made a difference.

**Disclaimer: As much as I wish, I have absolutely no claim to owning POTO. No characters, music, places, etc...are mine, except those you don't recognize 'cause they came out of my mind. So don't sue me, I'm not making any money off this and I don't really have anything you would want, unless you count my piano and cats...**

* * *

Erik stopped abruptly at the shrill sound, whipping his head around toward the direction it had come from. There it was again; an unknown woman's scream, but this time accompanied by sobbing. Walking quickly up the rest of the lane to the house, he set his belongings down on the front steps. With his cape swirling around him, he turned towards the sound and quickly strode off toward the forest that surrounded his new home.

As Erik reached the tree line he heard the woman scream again, louder and more frantically now. As he made his way further into the dense trees, new sounds were added to the increasingly frequent screams. With his heightened sense of hearing, he could make out scuffling, leaves rustling, pleas and whimpers now. It seemed that the woman, whoever she was, was rapidly losing her battle.

As he crept closer, he was surprised to come upon a well-used path in the woods; obviously some kind of trail. And just ahead on the trail, the masked man saw in an instant what all the commotion was about. Something surged inside of him, his vision grew red, and he swept noiselessly down the path.

* * *

The man smiled wolfishly at the woman furiously struggling beneath him. Every scream, every moan, and every effort she made to fight him only served to excite him more. He had had countless women and could have had many more, but he had his standards. Out of all the women he'd known though, only **this** one had refused him. Time and time again she had refused his overtures. Although she must have known that he had every right to expect this of her, she would not yield. She had demurred, citing her _principes_ as though they meant more to her than him. Now, he would take by force what should have been given freely. That which was rightfully his.

As he prepared to complete his conquest, suddenly there was a burning pain around his neck that blocked his ability to breathe. He was yanked off of his feet, pulled backwards and away from the woman. The searing pain around his throat eased. Just as he started to catch his breath he felt someone grab him by the collar and back of his jacket and throw him several yards away. The man landed hard against the dirt, sputtering in pain and frustration. Clambering to his feet and looking around for his attacker, to his confusion he saw no one.

Still unsure exactly what had happened, he turned back to the pathetic creature still huddled on the ground. As he lunged back towards the woman, an immense figure in black suddenly blocked his path. Cloaked and with his face hidden by a large hat, the towering stranger struck out at him, catching him squarely on the jaw. Without a moment's hesitation, the stranger struck him again, this time in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Now he collapsed onto his knees, gasping. Still trying to fight, he swung out wildly at this stranger who _dared_ to interfere. He missed, but his collapse and random swing gave Erik time to use his lasso to send the woman's attacker swiftly into unconsciousness.

Erik stood for a moment over the prone figure of the man he had just fought but had not killed, the red haze slowly fading from his vision. As his heart began to slow down, he realized that he had just acted virtually without thinking. Not only had he come charging into the situation like some kind of rescuing angel, he actually had not killed the man. It was a somewhat disturbing thought. _Helping_ someone, well, someone other than Christine, had not been part of his normal behavior for quite some time. Add to that the fact that he had **not** killed the man and his behavior was downright outlandish. Perhaps Christine's words had affected him more than he had given her credit for.

After turning back to make sure that the fiend on the ground was still out cold, Erik glanced quickly at the woman. She was huddled on the ground, quietly sobbing, trying to cover herself with the tattered remains of her dress. She did not look at him.

Erik stood there uncertainly, somewhat unsure exactly what he should do next. On one hand, it felt somehow wrong to him to just leave her there, crying, and go back to his house. She could be hurt for all he knew and unable to leave. On the other hand though, he hadn't had much success with calming frightened women in the recent past. Then again, he usually was the cause of the fear. Since this was not the case here, he decided to just see if she needed anything and then make his escape as soon as he possibly could. His mind made up, Erik started to walk towards her.

Hearing the leaves rustle as Erik began to move, the woman looked up at him with huge eyes. In the dim twilight beneath the trees, all she could make out was a tall, dark shape with eyes that gleamed a greenish gold. As he drew closer to her, she cried out and feebly tried to get to her feet to run. Her legs collapsing beneath her, she moaned loudly in terror.

Erik stopped abruptly. Looking at her in her light-colored dress, with darkish hair and shaking like a leaf, his instinctual reaction was to think that she was afraid because of him, the Phantom of the Opera. Then, shaking his head, he remembered that this wasn't Christine, this wasn't Paris, and she had most likely never seen him before. Taking a deep breath, he also realized that after what she had just been subjected to, she would doubtless be afraid of any man.

Erik tried to think what to do. Looking at her, shaking and still crying, he decided he would have to try to calm her down. "_Ne avoir __pas __peur. Je promets, je ne vais pas vous blesser__,_" he said in a calm, soothing voice. It was the same voice he had used with Christine when she had cried herself to sleep as a little girl.

As if to reinforce his words, he slowly took his cloak off. He took one step forward, bent down a bit so as not to appear so intimidating, and held it out to her. She looked at him with large, terrified eyes, petrified to trust any man. Erik remained as he was, knees bent, still holding the cloak out to her. He released a small sigh as she slowly began to move towards him to take the proffered garment, evidently deciding to trust her unlikely rescuer at least this much. But her legs again refused to hold her weight, and she started to fall to the ground.

As he saw her crumple, without thinking Erik moved swiftly to catch her. His sudden movement startled her. She again cried out in fear, and used the remainder of her strength to hurl herself away from him. She continued to fall, now too far away for Erik to catch her before she hit the ground. He cringed as her head hit with a sickening crack. She lay on the ground, immobile.

As he reached her side, Erik gingerly touched the side of her neck to see if the fall had been fatal. He could feel a pulse beat slowly beneath his gloved fingers. The chill of the woman's skin also could be felt through his gloves. Glancing up at the darkening sky, he sighed, concluding that there was no option but to take this woman back to _La G__uérison_ and determine where she belonged to later.

* * *

Wrapping the woman in his cloak, Erik lifted her into his arms and strode back towards his house. He was surprised at the length of time it took him to reach it. 'I must have gone further than I realized,' he thought as the houselights came into view. Reaching the door, he kicked at it impatiently. His hands were occupied with not dropping the strange woman, who at least had stopped shaking so on the walk to the house.

The door opened in a moment to reveal a woman of about 45, tall, with a reserved expression. She looked at the man with the woman in his arms. "Yes?" she asked somewhat suspiciously.

"I'm Erik Destler," Erik replied briskly. "This woman needs attention. Would you please be so kind as to direct me to a spare room," he said somewhat sarcastically. "And have someone bring my bags, they are sitting on the front steps."

"Certainly, Monsieur. Come this way," the woman said, leading him towards the staircase. "I am Adèle Dumas, your housekeeper. Madame Giry told us to expect your arrival, so everything is in order." She stopped at the top of the stairs. "Madame said that your room was to be the last one on the left. The room directly across the hall is a spare bedroom. Will that suit you Monsieur?"

"Yes, yes, that will be fine," Erik snapped. The woman had begun shaking and trembling in his arms. He could tell she was still cold, and probably in shock as well. He followed Adèle down the hall and waited impatiently as she opened the door. She quickly turned to light one gas lamp, then another. He laid the woman down on the bed. Glancing around, he saw the fireplace."Send someone up to light this," he said, gesturing to it. "And bring some warm water and towels." He stopped briefly to consider the woman's ripped dress. "Are there any women's clothes in this house?" he asked succinctly. At Adèle's expression, he quickly added, "This woman has been hurt badly and her clothing is past repair, she will need something else to wear."

"I may have something that she can use," Adèle replied uncertainly. At his dismissive gesture, she scurried away. Erik looked down at the woman lying on the bed, eyes still closed. He sighed, uncertainty plainly showing on his unmasked side.

"Who are you?" he said to the still, silent woman.

* * *

Translations

_principes – _principles

_Ne avoir __pas __peur. Je promets, je ne vais pas vous blesser _ – Don't be afraid. I promise, I will not hurt you.

**As before, please please please review! Thanks for reading!**


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